


Don't You Forget About Me

by tresshots



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy, Knotting, M/M, Other Pack(s), So Many Tropes Oh My God
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9542060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tresshots/pseuds/tresshots
Summary: They're madly in love, but then there's an apocalypse, a witch and a spell, and Derek sacrifices himself so Stiles doesn't have to. The only  problem is that Stiles loses all his memories of them together and doesn't even like Derek anymore.And Derek is handling it just fine, thank you very much, expect a Texas pack who was once after Stiles comes to Beacon Hills. Stiles needs an Alpha's claim to protect him, so they need to fake being irresistibly into each other. Derek's life is a cruel joke and nobody will ever tell him otherwise.





	1. tender things we were working on

**Author's Note:**

> Such an obvious name for a fic about amnesia but hey, if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck... also: I will never deal with the fact Sheriff's name is Noah, but this is me trying.
> 
> I love feedback, it keeps me going <3

The first time they kiss very nearly doesn’t happen at all, because it takes so infuriatingly long for both of them to finally come to their senses and admit that the feelings have always,  _always_  been there. (And also because Derek almost dies before the occurrence.)

Their relationship has gone through all the necessary stages an epic love takes to blossom. At first it was a begrudging alliance, sprinkled with open mistrust but still accompanied by a core-deep need to save each other’s lives; then Stiles finally turned 18 and it was time for the unbearable sexual tension, non-stop innuendos from Stiles’ end and hungry eyefucking from Derek’s; after college Stiles came back to Beacon Hills like the rest of the pack, and their friendship was based on deep respect and mutual, easy flirting.

But because they’re both insecure and extremely afraid of anything  _real_ , it takes Derek’s too-near-death experience for the next step to take place. As it is, they’re at Derek’s loft and Stiles – once again – cleans his bleeding wounds carefully before leading him to bed. But what follows is different than all the times before: Stiles stays. It’s only natural that Derek doesn’t command him to leave, doesn’t ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing; they’ve both known for a long time that this was coming, one way or another.

Stiles strips them both down to their underwear – Derek is still in the middle of a healing process and won’t be up for any sexy times tonight – but it’s heady, the way his body fits around Derek’s in a way that feels like  _safe_  and  _cared for_. Stiles tries not to think about how Derek almost got slaughtered by a rogue monster Alpha. He distracts himself with touch and sound; Derek's got a strong beating heart in his ribcage and the pulse in his jugular is flowing sturdy under Stiles’ fingertips; he's still here, and that's enough to lull them both to sleep.

When the morning sun rises, they wake from slumber and kiss: quiet and easy, with wandering hands and warm limbs, the horrors of the night swept away with every brush of lips. Stiles gets on top of Derek and jacks them both off with his hand. Derek keeps breathing wetly against his neck, and when they come, it feels like coming home, and nothing more needs to be said.

They kiss for hours and go on dates. One day they have sex, and Derek is so amazed he gets to be the first to be inside Stiles. Stiles would loathe to admit it, but this is what he’s always needed. He’s wanted to find somebody who wants sex  _with him_  and vice versa, not just sex itself. And maybe the fact that he’s been slowly spiraling into love with Derek since he was sixteen has something to do with it. He hasn’t been saving himself for Derek or anything… or if he has, well; it’s nobody else’s goddamn business but theirs.

It’s easy in a way neither of them ever dared to dream of. The pack is happy for both of them, although they get teased a lot, but it’s all in good nature. When they go out on dates, they get smiles from waitresses and sighs of: “Oh, I wish one day I could find someone who looks at me like you two look at each other.” Against all Derek’s fears even Noah accepts them without a single objection. He’s been Derek’s boss for seven years now, and when Stiles comes to the station to greet Derek with a kiss and lunch, Noah smiles to himself when he thinks neither of them can see.

On their six month anniversary Derek leads Stiles out to the woods and shows him what he’s been working on: the ruins of the Hale House are completely gone, the ground empty and smooth, and Derek asks so shyly if Stiles would maybe consider moving in with him into a new house, if that’s something Stiles could want for the rest of their lives.

Yes, Stiles answers, yes to this, to you, to everything about us. They stay up all night, and the sex is unbelievable. Derek fucks like a jackhammer in love, makes Stiles come three times. The fourth time happens when he’s got his big fat knot inside Stiles, filling him up with so much come he thinks giddily about how Stiles will never get him out now. This is the point of no return.

The next day they begin building the new house, and the whole pack is excited, how could they not be? There’s going to be a house for  _all of them_ , they’re going to be a  _familypackhomeyes_.

It’s practically a domestic bliss. They go to work - who knew being a successor to Mr. Harris would end up being Stiles' dream job? - and build; the rest of the pack helping whenever they can. Eventually the Hale House rises from the ashes. There are walls and floors and doors and a ceiling, and electricity and water too, so they will be able to move maybe in a month or so.

Derek and Stiles decide to celebrate the happy occasion in their favorite diner in town. They’re arguing in soft voices about what their bedroom should look like. All in all, it’s an extraordinary Tuesday evening, even before the whole diner goes dark and the screaming begins.

It’s like everybody in the restaurant has gone mad at the same time except for the two of them. They’re all screaming crying scratching their own skin like trying to flay themselves alive, and it doesn’t come a minute too soon when Scott calls Derek and yells about how the Nemeton’s acting up,  _like, big time_. They need to gather at Derek’s, and they need to do it  _now_.

Derek and Stiles get in the car, and as they drive through Beacon Hills, the sky starts raining actual blood. The scenery is straight from an apocalypse; there’s screaming people and terrible monsters everywhere. “Why aren’t we affected or attacked?” Stiles asks the most burning question, which neither of them want to dwell on for too long. They’ve seen enough to know everything happens for a reason, and they won't escape this unscathed.

Finally they arrive at the loft. Everybody else is already there, and they all start talking at the same time before Derek roars them quiet and turns towards the newest addition to the supernatural population of Beacon Hills; Ayana, a 400-year old witch slash wood nymph. “What does the Nemeton want?” Derek asks and it takes all he's got not to add 'this time' to the end.

“A sacrifice.” The surety in Ayana’s voice doesn’t surprise anyone; she knows her magical trees.

“A sacrifice of what and from whom?” Lydia asks.

Ayana turns her cool gaze to her. “She wants a love bond. From anybody who is willing to give it.” She says nothing else, like that should be enough of an explanation. Everybody waits patiently. Ayana is definitely not a people person. “She needs a sacrifice of a loved one,” she finally continues when the silence stretches on long enough.

And then her eyes travel down Lydia’s form, down to her full breasts and her round stomach where they stop, and everybody gets it at once. Jackson jumps in front of Lydia, who puts her hand on her baby bump as if to protect the unborn twins from Ayana’s piercing eyes. Jackson looks furious and Scott and Boyd have to step in to hold him back.

“Do not snarl at me, wolf. You asked and I answered,” Ayana says. Jackson only growls louder.

“Yeah, that’s not good enough,” Stiles says sharply. “First of all, how do you know that the Nemeton wants love? And how is it love to do whatever the _fuck_ you’re trying to suggest?”

“Not love, a sacrifice of a love bond,” Ayana says, calm as a saint even though the loft is full of werewolves snapping their teeth at her. “I know, because she speaks to me. All nymphs can feel her call right now. She is desperate.”

“What’s a love bond?”

“The strong loves between humans… or non-humans. A parent’s love for their child; a child’s for their parent. True love between two people. Only one of them will do.”

“And how do you know it’s true love?” Stiles asks, mind reeling. He’s never heard of anything like this before.

"Like strings tied together, I can see love.” And then Ayana looks between Stiles and Derek as if following an invisible string. “You have it. That would do.”

Stiles doesn’t get one word in before Derek drops his fangs and  _roars_. It's a window-rattling sound. “ _No_.“

“It is what it is, Alpha.”

“What does giving up a love bond even  _mean_? Blood magic, or…?“ Stiles opens his mouth and Derek turns to him with wide eyes. “Oh, would you chill, I’m not saying yes, are you  _insane_ , we just need to figure out what the Nemeton wants,” Stiles rolls his eyes. Somehow it doesn’t make Derek relax at all.

“Sometimes there is death, yes. Sometimes not. But there needs to be a loss of a love once held dear. All of the history. The memories. She feeds on the power of them. They will be gone.” It’s amazing how even after two years of civilization Ayana hasn’t still learned how to speak like a normal person. Well, 480 year old habits probably die hard.

“So the Nemeton is basically like a dementor,” Stiles clears.

Ayana doesn’t confirm but she doesn’t deny it either. Although it needs to be said that she probably doesn’t even know what a dementor is. “She is getting hungrier,” she says with a glazed look.

“Hold on, I have another question,” Stiles demands. “Why are we the only ones not affected?”

“Because she knows you,” Ayana blinks. “You have touched her. Now you need to listen.”

“What needs to happen for this to stop?” Stiles asks.

“A love sacr- “

“Yeah, yeah, well _obviously_ we’re not doing that,” Stiles sighs. “Okay. Let’s just all calm down and – “

They can’t, because there’s a fucking nasty roar and –  _thumping_? – coming outside. They go to the window: the sky has slowly been brewing darker and darker, and in the darkness they can see a glowing hulk of a… a…

“Is that the dog from Hercules?” Isaac gasps.

“He is Kerberos,” Ayana says like her and the three-headed hellhound are old friends. They probably are, knowing her. “Nemeton has sent him to come for us. Nemeton and him were lovers, once.”

“Nevermind the weirdness of _that_ ,” Stiles shudders. “We need a plan.”

“We’ll kill it,” Derek says. Snaps his claws out. Kerberos' roar has awakened every single Alpha instinct in him. “We’ll take him out, and you – you’ll find another way to satisfy the Nemeton.” He can’t command Ayana into submission, of course, but that doesn’t mean he can’t  _try_.

“There is none,” Ayana answers.

“If you want to stay alive, you  _will_ ,” Derek snarls. “The three of you. You stay and you find out a way.” He nods at Stiles and Lydia.

That’s it, then. Derek gathers his pack, everybody gloomy, knowing this won’t be easy at all. At first Jackson won’t budge, still in a protective stance in front of Lydia. “Like hell will I leave her with  _that_ ,” he snaps, still staring at every move Ayana makes.

“I can take care of myself,” Lydia says softly. “Stiles will be here, too. Go, Jackson.” When he looks like he’s trying to argue, Lydia pushes him, hard. “ _Go_.”

They know they’ve got no other choice; they bid farewells. Stiles walks Derek to the door. This time when they kiss they’re deeply in love, willing each other to come back alive,  _see you later_.

Derek heads out to the streets. He and the pack fight and fight and fight, and it’s only getting worse, Beacon Hills slipping deeper into madness. Everything is dark and there are smaller beasts and fucking Kerberos swiping left and right. People are dying and screaming, and then he feels it. Something is  _tugging at his brain_ , Derek swears, and at first he thinks it’s because somebody in his pack is dying, but it’s something deeper, something – it hits him at once:  _Stiles_.

He follows his instincts. He knows something bad is happening, his heart is beating against his aching head, and he keeps getting flashes of his and Stiles’ relationship from the very beginning like a film scrolling through his pupils.

He runs and runs and runs, realizing he’s heading to the Nemeton, and he lets the tug and pull of Stiles lead him. Derek runs as fast as he can, and arrives just in time.

Lydia is lying next to the Nemeton. There’s blood dripping from her ears and her glossed over eyes are staring into distance. She’s chanting something, but Derek doesn’t care about that, because next to her is the unconscious form of Stiles, who’s wrapped in a cloud of all too familiar magical glow.

Derek rushes for him, but there’s a barrier around the humans and Ayana, stronger than mountain ash. He snarls and Ayana, who seems to be the only one in charge of her body, looks at him with glittering eyes, chanting a spell.

“Stop,” Derek rasps.

“My condolences, Alpha,” Ayana says and she looks it too, but she’s not  _stopping_.

It’s the true love’s spell, Derek knows it.

“No, no, no,” Derek says; begs, really. “No. Take me.”

“Your human volunteered.”

“Please. Take me instead,” Derek says. “Let him live.”

“He will not die,” Ayana says. “The spell will not harm him. It will take your love for him, nothing else.“

But to Derek, that’s even worse. Not loving Stiles – he can’t – he just _can’t_. “I don’t care,” Derek answers. “Take me instead.”

“You do understand your sacrifice?” Ayana asks. “He will not remember his love for you. If you try to tell him, he will not hear. The purge will be complete. She requires nothing less.”

“I understand, just – Jesus, let me – let me keep him,” Derek says, there’s not – he doesn’t have any time to really _think_ , the only thing he knows is that he keeps getting all these flashes, undoubtedly the spell working its way through Stiles’ mind, and Derek can’t lose this.  _Not him._

Stiles will find someone else; he’s always been way too good for Derek anyway, but Derek? He’ll never love another.

“Very well, Alpha,” Ayana nods. The glow on Stiles’ peaceful form changes color, and then changes direction, and floats on to Derek.

Then: darkness.

A flash.

Time doesn’t exist.

Derek doesn’t exist.

Until – well, _after_.

 

He wakes up to a world full of sunlight, the wind gently rusting Nemeton’s leaves; Ayana is gone, and Lydia is calling his name.

”Derek,” Lydia says. “Wake up.” The blood is gone from her face, her cheeks are flushed, and her stomach is still thumping the secure sound of two extra hearts beating.

Derek opens his eyes slowly and it’s not a surprise where his gaze travels immediately.

“Lydia?” Stiles asks groggily. “I had the weirdest fucking dream ever. Wait, why am I half naked – did I – did we…?”

Stiles looks at: Lydia, around the forest; finally at Derek. His eyes flash bright flaming green for a second and Derek’s never been one to pray but now he does,  _please let his love have been strong enough_.

“Stiles,” Derek croaks and he can’t help himself, has to crawl to him, and Stiles keeps looking at him with wide eyes. Derek is near enough so he can close his arms around Stiles, breathe in the scent of him. And for a blissful second it feels like they are still _them_ , like they survived, but then Stiles pushes him away.

“What the hell are you doing, dude?” he asks incredulously. Derek is so shocked by the sudden smell of fear, he lets him go. “Jesus, some personal space, thanks.” Stiles looks at him like his actions are insane, like he’s a complete stranger, and it’s over, Derek knows. It takes all he has not to fall on his knees right there and then.

Lydia looks at Derek in pure horror. “You didn’t,” Lydia gasps.

“Did what?” Stiles asks.

“Oh, Derek.” Lydia’s eyes are filling with tears.

”Don’t,” Derek snarls.

He turns around and starts running.


	2. slow change may pull us apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with Derek's dark soul, the third chapter will take a much more humorous and sexy turn, I promise!

Derek takes his wolf form and ventures deeper in the forest than ever before. He feeds on small woodland creatures and misery. He doesn’t plan on going back, maybe ever again.

But because life isn’t a fairytale, and Derek isn’t responsible only for himself anymore, on the fourth day of his absence the pack finally catches up to him. One part of Derek would like to chastise them for taking so long to track him, but the winning part is telling them to fuck off and leave him alone, which they of course won’t do. It’s only when they absolutely refuse to leave him, begging him to change back to human so they can talk, he accepts his defeat.

“You’re so sad it hurts to even look at you,” Erica sighs.

“So don’t,” Derek snarls and makes a holy vow right there and then: he will not forge his company on anybody, ever again. “Go home, all of you.”

It looks like the rest of them try to protest, but Scott takes one good, final look at Derek and urges the pack to leave. Derek is thankful but only for a while; he spends two more days in the woods, sleeping and eating and brooding. He doesn’t think of Stiles, or at least that’s what he’d say to anybody who asked. In reality he thinks of nothing else but his smell, his long, awkward limbs wrapped around Derek’s form when they have sex, the breathy gasp he makes when Derek makes him come. Derek thinks about how he won’t get to have that ever again, and he howls, but nobody answers. 

 

He’s half feral when Scott finds him at the Hale House a couple weeks later. Scott looks around sadly, no doubt taking in the miserable state of the house. Lately, Derek hasn’t had much care for housekeeping. The floors are absolutely filthy with mud and dirt and carcasses. Claw marks cover the walls and Derek’s bed is a sad little lump of leaves.

“We’ve let you mourn in peace,” Scott says. “But you need to come back now.”

“I’m right here, aren’t I,” Derek says. His voice is raspy from lack of use. The only human words he’s spoken in the last weeks was when he left a voicemail in Sheriff’s phone and told him he’s taking a leave from work, thanks and goodbye.

Noah never called him back, and Derek took two things from that. First: somebody must have explained him about the curse, and second; the man probably never liked Derek much anyway and must have thought, _what a good riddance_.

“The full moon is in four days,” Scott explains patiently. “Erica is going up the walls, and not even Boyd can calm her down. Jackson and Lydia are fighting; the wounds won’t heal before they rip them open again. Isaac won’t come near them because of all the yelling. Your pack needs you, Derek.”

_Nobody needs me_ , Derek thinks of saying, but he knows that would be unfair, and besides he knows all these things; he’s felt the sorrow of his pack in his bones, in his veins, and he can't punish them for the fact Stiles simply never loved him enough.

He only nods and grunts, but it seems to be enough for Scott. “And for fuck’s sake, clean up here, and maybe a razor wouldn’t be too bad either,” Scott japes. It’s delivered with a smile, but Derek can’t even find it in him to roll his eyes.

 

He spends the next days cleaning up the house. Whenever he isn’t cleaning, he’s hunting; when he’s not hunting, he’s working out. Whatever to keep his mind busy. Stiles will be attending the pack night, and Derek feels – well. Afraid and anxious, and yet there’s a stupid little flame called hope in his chest, even though he tries his best to put it out. Different versions of _what ifs_ keep running through his mind, both torturous and sweet.

And yet: no matter how much he tries to prepare for the worst, never in a million years could he have foreseen what actually happens when the night of the full moon comes.

Derek has been on the edge of madness for the whole day, and when the pack finally arrives, he barely manages to hold it together. Because what happens is: Stiles merely looks at him, says: “Hi, dude,” and turns back to shoot adoring looks at Lydia. He is _absolutely smitten_ with her again; it could be seen and smelled and felt even without super senses. It doesn’t apparently matter she and Jackson share a bond he could never break, doesn’t matter she’s got his twins growing strong inside her belly; Stiles is nothing but stubborn.

_He always did love her more than me_ , Derek thinks with a stony heart. _I was a fool to think it ever changed. He settled for me, that’s what he did, and here’s the proof._

Derek takes the wolves out to the woods soon enough. He doesn’t engage much with any of them, but his mere presence seems to have enough of a calming effect on everybody. They run and hunt and when the morning comes, Derek dreads the return to the house but he’s got no other choice.

He doesn’t even get a glimpse of Stiles though; he’d left a couple of hours earlier, Lydia tells Derek in the kitchen. “I know it must be – he’s been acting so…” Lydia says, lost for words, and it’s apparent she’s trying to apologize for Stiles. Derek, still feverish with the full moon, almost fucking snaps her neck off her shoulders. Growls her to get out and fast, and luckily, she does. His mother and Laura would be so ashamed – threatening a pregnant woman? _Really, Derek_? He can almost hear their voices in his head, but he shakes them off angrily enough.

_They’re not here, and neither is Stiles. I’m just how was I always supposed to end up; alone._

 

It isn’t much a wonder Derek relapses back to his sad, lonely ways. He goes back to the loft to gather up everything Stiles ever left back there, takes the stuff back to the house, to the room upstairs which was supposed to be his and Stiles’ bedroom. He’s fucking _nesting_. He builds a shrine of Stiles’ belongings; a tomb, really, but it’s not like there’s anybody around to judge him for it.

Once he’s had enough of eating raw rabbits, Derek goes grocery shopping and what would you know, he happens to stumble upon Noah. The Sheriff barely nods at him, and Derek almost abandons his cart and all his groceries right there and then, but he grits his teeth and goes straight to the counter. His mind is a jet black thing and he hates himself all the way back home.

He couldn’t be more surprised when he’s greeted by Scott and Allison looking grim in his porch. Even more unexpected, Stiles and Lydia are located further away, talking to each other in soft voices. Stiles tells Lydia: “This place kinda creeps me out, what the hell is that garden gnome?”

It takes all Derek has to not run to him, to tell Stiles it was an inside joke from a road trip they once made, Stiles fucking chose it himself. It would take but a couple of seconds, and Derek is seriously considering the pros and cons of doing so, but Scott grabs him by the shoulder. “We need to talk.”

Derek shrugs his hand off and leads him and Allison inside. He keeps watching outside to where Stiles and Lydia stayed from the kitchen window as he unloads the shopping bags, and Scott is kinda just hanging out there, when Allison delivers a soft: “Derek. We got a problem.”

“Handle it,” Derek says absently. Stiles looks at Lydia, open-mouthed and blushed, as she does nothing less, nothing more than exists and is beautiful.

“I can’t,” Scott says, and Derek is about to slam his fist down, when Allison explains.

“The Texas pack has decided to pay us a visit.”

That manages to grasp his attention. “ _What_?”

A couple of years ago they attended a werewolf convention in Orlando, and it just happened that the second-in-command Beta of the greatest pack in Texas took an intimate interest in Stiles. It was both for the power of spark he held and also the alluring nature of Stiles' being, even though the Beta knew Derek had a claim on him; or perhaps even because of it.

She’d suggested a walk in the woods to Stiles, to talk about a possible alliance between their packs, and for some strange fucking reason Stiles hadn’t seen what was coming. So when the Beta put her hands on Stiles and her tongue in his mouth, and Stiles hit her and ran to Derek straight away, bloodshed followed.

Derek ended up ripping the Beta’s heart out, and in return her Alpha barely managed to hold the rest of her pack from killing Derek. A pack war almost commenced, and the whole ordeal had to be solved by a high jury, summoned upon the Alphas of the packs visiting the convention.

In the end Derek got to keep his life and Stiles, but the Texas pack who called for Stiles’ head was granted one condition: they could not seek revenge for their lost Beta for as long as Derek’s claim on Stiles held. But if not… well, Stiles would be fair game.

So considering all that, Allison couldn’t possibly have delivered any worse news.

“My cousin from El Paso called me this morning. He'd happened to cross ways with them in his lands, and when he asked what business they had, they told him they’re headed for Beacon Hills. It’s not too hard to figure out why, Derek. They’ve heard of the spell and now they’ve come for Stiles.”

Derek curls his fists into claws; breathes slow and careful through his nose. His blood is singing. “We can’t know that.”

Scott looks at him. “Even if it wasn’t the reason, they will remember when they see him. Derek – you know you’re going to have to claim him.”

“No.”

“You have to.”

“ _No.”_ Derek looks outside. “Let her – “ he can’t even say Lydia’s name out loud anymore – “let her do it.”

“What, while she’s carrying Jackson’s babies?” Allison looks completely unimpressed by Derek’s stupidity. “It wouldn’t work anyway; it was specified, he’s not safe without your claim on him. Jesus Christ, Derek, that Beta was willing to fight you because she thought Stiles such a promising spark. What do you think their Alpha will do once she finds out Stiles has grown strong enough to destroy the Nemeton?”

“You still smell like each other,” says Scott, and Derek doesn’t tell him about how he sleeps with Stiles’ shirt, masturbates into it, of course he smells like Stiles, he’ll never _stop_.

Derek’s quiet, lost in his drowning thoughts for the longest of time. “And – him. What makes you think he’ll say yes?”

“He already did,” Allison says triumphantly.

Derek looks outside. Stiles is as beautiful as ever. He keeps staring staring _staring_ and then, out of nowhere: their eyes meet, but there’s nothing in Stiles’ eyes. A quick flash of fleeting recognition, perhaps, but nothing that even resembles love.

Derek is just about to say no, he’ll do anything but this, but then Stiles turns discreetly to Lydia. He thinks he’s being quiet enough, doesn’t know Derek has learnt to hear his voice from fucking light years afar, and he whispers into her ear: “Holy shit, when did Derek become so hot?”

“He’s always been hot,” Lydia answers, amused. Stiles takes another sneaky glance at Derek who quickly, _so quickly,_ turns his face away.

“Fine,” is what Derek says out loud in the kitchen. His heart is pounding. He doesn’t know if Scott has heard Stiles.

“I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you, but thank you,” Allison says and there are tears in her eyes like she’d actually expected him to refuse, and Derek just nods slightly. “I’ll go get them inside so we can all talk.”

Allison steps outside and Scott looks at him carefully. “You know you still can’t – “

“I know,” Derek says before he can finish, and he holds his breath when the door opens, and then three voices burst in.

They all go to the empty but mostly clean living room. Derek hasn’t got eyes for anybody but Stiles, who looks awkwardly around him. “Hey man,” he says and doesn't grant Derek much more than mild interest.

They go over the situation, Stiles looking nonchalant, sticking close to Lydia all the time. “Sorry to bother you like this, dude,” he says to Derek once they’re all on the same page, who only nods stiffly.

Derek hears pretty much none of Lydia, Allison and Scott’s scheming. He only knows this: soon enough they’re gone, and Derek is left in his mess of a house where Stiles is moving in _tomorrow_. This is either the best or the worst thing to ever happen to him, and thinking back to his track record of succeeding in life, it’s not hard to figure out the outcome.


	3. will you recognize me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just keeps expanding, so I've decided to go with the flow and not stick to a chapter limit. I feel free!! Here, have some feels and please do share if you have some of your own!

The tension in the living room could be cut with a toothpick. Lydia hasn’t taken her eyes off Derek for the past two hours, no doubt remembering their last heated exchange of words in the kitchen. Allison acts like everything is cool, talking a mile a minute and flashing her dimples desperately.

“So, everything’s settled then,” she chirps. “We’ve got your cover story figured out, Scott just texted me him and Stiles are on their way. We’re all good, right?”

Derek barely manages a nod.

Lydia smooths a hand over her skirt. A significant gesture of nervousness, coming from her. “We have to tread this very carefully,” she says. “The story should hold, I think. But we can’t be quite sure before Stiles gets here. It might be that his mind still rejects everything Derek says.”

“We should've just asked Ayana for help,” Derek says. He would for sure love a couple of words with the witch.

“I told you she’s disappeared,” Lydia says, looking none too happy for it. “I asked Deaton and he said she’s probably just letting the dust settle. No, we’re on our own in this.”

Derek shakes his head, releasing a few cracking sounds and a lot of tension. They’ve spent the whole morning making up a new history for him and Stiles, one the Texas pack but also _Stiles_ might believe. So far Derek's managed to work himself into a state of dread and sorrow.

He was never made aware of the specifics of the spell in the midst of the battle. Sure he had some sort of a hazy notion about the nature of it, but what Lydia and Deaton had managed to find out revealed it was even more complicated and cruel Derek had thought.

While Derek was “sorting things out,” like Allison politely referred to his mental breakdown in the woods, the rest of the pack teamed up to figure out just what the hell had happened to Stiles’ mind. And through many cross-examinations they had managed to figure out that the spell had warped most of Stiles’ memories of Derek as if they had been experienced with someone else, under different circumstances.

Like if you were to ask him: “Do you remember the vacation you and Derek took last New Year?” Stiles would answer: “What? No, me and dad went to New York, he loved the fireworks.” If anybody tried to directly tell him: “But you _love_ Derek,” he’d just laugh or scoff: “Are you insane? I barely know the guy.”

Stiles doesn’t even remember anything about consenting to Ayana’s true love spell. The way he recalls the day Nemeton blew her monsters all over Beacon Hills is that he simply did a protection spell with the witch, whilst Lydia laid there bleeding, and that’s about it.

It still doesn’t make much sense to Derek. He’s got one burning notion in his mind he hasn’t yet had the strength to voice out, but soon Stiles will arrive and he’s got to know before that. “But he does remember me, though,” he states. “He knows my name, knows who I am. Obviously I’m _someone_ to him. Isn’t there any way… if I just told him the truth…” he doesn’t even know what he’s asking, but it sounds like a plead.

“We thought about it, of course. Why couldn’t we just tell him about the spell, and be done with it?” Allison says, very softly. “But he gets angry and even frightened, like he doesn’t really understand what he’s being told. And he remembers you, yeah, but not his feelings for you,” Allison explains, driving heartbreak gently through Derek’s chest. “The way he recalls you is like you’re barely even acquaintances. The spell erased every single thought or moment associated with love or desire he ever had with you, and attached them to… well… to someone else.”

“You,” Derek spits out accusingly. He doesn’t need to specify.

“He doesn’t love me,” Lydia denies. “He never did, not really, the spell just makes him think he does.”

“Is that supposed to comfort me?”

“No,” Lydia says, and she’s trembling with barely contained anger now. “But if you ever snap your teeth at me again, I’ll have your head.”

It's a struggle for Derek to not to drop his fangs from the threat. “Remember who you’re talking to, banshee.”

Lydia studies Derek’s face for a long time. “You’ve changed,” she says.

“Yeah.” No point in denying it.

“Let’s keep a clear head here,” Allison says sharply enough. “We have real problems to focus on.”

Derek thinks that Stiles transferring his feelings of love from him to Lydia is a problem as real as any, but it wouldn’t help anyone to voice his thoughts out loud. So he keeps his mouth shut and fangs intact, and takes to glaring at the floor, because he’s nothing but obedient and rational, and Lydia has stupid hair and face anyway.

 

Derek hates the sound of the doorbell. It’s too loud and shrilly to his sensitive ears, but Stiles had chosen it because the button was shaped like a wolf, and Derek could never deny Stiles anything when being bribed with blowjobs.

“The dude’s seriously committed to his lone wolf aesthetics,” he hears Stiles’ muffled snigger to Scott, and Derek’s poor heart curls up.

Allison takes one look at his face and must see something crumbling there, because she hurries hastily up. “I’ll go,” she says, which is none better because it leaves Derek pretending like he isn't alone in the living room with _Lydia_.

Derek strains his ears. There’s soft whispers, a kiss exchanged, and the sound of scuffling. Stiles yawns _,_ says: “So, where’s the beast of the castle?”

“Shut up, he can hear you,” Scott hisses.

“So?”

He's given no warning when a cheerful Stiles bursts into the living room, two large duffel bags in hand and blinking down at Derek. “Hi.” He drops the bags and zeroes in on Lydia. A small, soft, private smile forms on his lips. “Hey, princess.”

Derek doesn’t even realize his eyes are burning red before Scott steps in front of him, blocking him from the sight of Stiles, and gestures meaningfully at his own eyes. Derek forces himself to calm down. He feels so nervous and unnatural. Scott steps away, revealing Stiles has sat down next to Lydia on the couch. Allison settles against the windowsill and Scott, tactically, takes a place on the floor between Derek and Stiles.

“What’s up, then?” Stiles asks. Derek’s gaze lingers on him. So many small things have changed: the way he does his hair, his fragrance, the new shirt (sharp and smart, undoubtedly something Lydia would like on a man); but so many have stayed just the same: the battered Converse, the color of his eyes, the nervous dance of his fingers.

Derek misses, misses, _misses_ him.

“I think it’d be best to go over your cover to make sure you both have the same version,” Lydia says. She's keeping a certain distance between her and Stiles and her voice is loaded with nothing but politeness. No doubt it's all for Derek’s sake, but she shouldn’t be expecting much gratitude.

“Yeah, our great love story,” Stiles turns to Derek now, and the exaggerated roll of his eyes conveys: _us, in love? Impossible._

Derek cracks his knuckles. Allison hurries to carry on with the conversation. “So we managed to make up a believable enough of a story. You were friends for the longest of time, but when the Beta tried to kill Stiles in Orlando, you both realized your feelings and have been in love ever since,” she says. “Luckily the jury never questioned the state of your claim, so they should believe whatever we tell them now.”

“I still think it’s a freaking miracle if that flies,” Stiles snorts. “But then again they _were_ stupid enough to believe our lies back then, so.”

“Wait.” Derek’s curiosity hackles. “What do you remember of the Orlando convention?”

“Growing a little old in the head?” Stiles snickers. He’s all relaxed while everybody else is on the edge, all too aware of the absurdity of the situation.

How Derek would love to shut that pretty mouth up with his tongue, his dick, just like he used to, but now he has to grin and bear. “I just need to know we’re on the same page.”

“The bitch wanted me for my spark, I hit her, simple as that,” Stiles shrugs.

“And?”

“And, what?”

“What happened to her?”

“The pack killed her.”

“The pack,” Derek repeats numbly. He can remember the smell of the Beta’s still beating heart when he ripped it out of her chest. “It was me.”

“Sure,” Stiles says like it’s nothing. Like they hadn’t fucked later that night after the jury’s hearing, Derek still wearing her blood, like he hadn’t knotted Stiles satisfied with how all the wolves would know just whom he belonged to.

“And what was the lie we told back then?” Derek presses on.

“Look, what’s this about? Have I not, like, expressed my gratitude enough or something?” Stiles seeks help from Scott, like Derek’s the one acting crazy here. Well, to him, he _is_.

“Just humor him,” Scott mumbles awkwardly. If Derek was a lesser Alpha, he’d have his tongue just for that.

“I would one day become the pack’s emissary, blah blah, an Alpha’s right for a spark is rare and even more sacred,” Stiles says, annoyed now. “Is this some kind of a test?”

“That _was_ part of the deal,” Lydia says. She’s right, of course. It was a very, very minor part though, more weight on how Stiles belonged to Derek in a way more intimate level. “Now you only need to make them believe Derek killed her also because you're so in love. That’s all.”

“Wait, there’s something amiss,” Stiles says. “But why would they… I _knew_ something wasn't sitting right with this whole thing...” he squints his eyes, and everybody holds their breath, and he – laughs. “Yeah, a plot hole as big as any. The spark stuff was good enough of a reason back then, and that hasn’t changed, I'm still training with Deaton. Why should we need to go through with this, y’know, Alpha’s claim thing? I mean, in a romantic sense. Why would they care?”

Lydia’s the first to find her tongue after the stunned silence. “I – well, it’s more likely to – “

“I lied to them,” Derek blurts. “Back in Orlando. I told the jury we also had that. My natural claim for my… partner.”

“You did?” Stiles asks, cocking his head.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Stiles sounds confused.

It would be so easy to say: _because it was real, and I loved you. Because you were mine and I was yours, and I would rather have died than give you up_. But he doesn’t want to hear Stiles laugh at him, doesn’t think he could bear it now that he has him living and breathing in his space, so Derek sticks to the story. “You’re the spark. I – _we_ needed to keep you.”

“But… you couldn’t have fooled so many Alphas.”

"Growing up a werewolf, you figure out some ways to evade uncomfortable questions. It wasn't really lying."

For a second there’s only suspicion in Stiles’ eyes, and Derek thinks, _yes, yes, figure it out, it’s not that hard_ , but it all blanks out like smothered with a blanket. The spell does not yield.

“Well, thanks for that, bro,” Stiles drawls. He gets more serious in a heartbeat. “Though I guess I really _do_ have to thank you. I can’t imagine you’d like a stranger in your space, but I appreciate the effort to keep me alive. Man, I can’t believe they’re coming for me just for the stuff with the Nemeton. The spell wasn’t even anything special, and Ayana did most of it anyway, but _sure_ , blame the human.”

“The spell,” Derek says sharply. “You – what about the spell?”

“The one we did to satisfy the Nemeton…? Seriously, do we need to take you to the hospital to get tested for Alzheimer's?”

“No, no,” Derek says, _stupid, stupid hope_. “I guess we’re all clear then.”

“It would seem so,” Lydia agrees and stands up. “We ought to leave you two to settle in.”

“You sure you couldn’t stay a little longer?” Stiles asks disappointed.

Lydia doesn’t look at him. “I think we’d best not.”

Allison makes her leave too, and the girls are headed outside, but Scott lingers on. “Will you be alright?” he asks. Stiles may not understand the weight of the question, but Derek does.

“Yes,” he grouses.

“You know you can call me anytime,” Scott presses.

“Oh my god, stop babying him! What about me, the actual person whose life is in danger?” Stiles complains. Scott turns to hug him.

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises and looks straight at Derek over Stiles’ shoulder. “Right, Derek?”

Derek grumbles something unclear, but it seems to be enough of an answer for Stiles to let Scott go. The door closes behind him and that’s it, they’re alone in this house that was meant to be theirs anyway.

“So what do we do now?” Stiles flops down to the sofa.

“You can do whatever you want,” Derek says, “I’m going for a run.” He needs to get out of here, he needs to calm down a bit and then he can act civilized. Probably.

Stiles snorts. “Yes, because what you definitely need is more muscles.”

“What’s wrong with my muscles?” Derek frowns. Stiles had at least always seemed to appreciate his body.

“Nothing at all,” Stiles says, smirking. “Oh, well. I’ll just stay here and watch the TV. Or I _would_ , if you had one.”

Derek doesn’t know what to do with that, so he kinda just nods awkwardly and gets the hell out of the house like he’s being chased by a ghost. Which, he supposes, isn’t terribly far from the truth. He doesn’t bother with changing, just shrugs off his shirt and starts for the woods barefoot; all the while completely unaware of the fact that he’s wearing something resembling a smile, for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

 

Derek returns to the house hours and hours later when it’s already grown dark outside. He lost his sense of time, or maybe it was purposeful stalling; Derek isn’t too big of a fan of psychoanalysis anyway.

He opens the door and listens for a while. There are noises coming from the living room. Derek had made a promise to himself during his run: he’d come back and behave like an adult, he’d seek Stiles out and they’d sit down and have a mature talk, but all his bravery crumbles. He’s in the middle of trying to sneak upstairs when Stiles appears to the bottom of the stairway.

“You’re alive,” he notes. “And sweaty.”

“Yeah,” Derek says. He feels too naked under Stiles’ judgement-filled eyes.

“Okay,” Stiles says when the silence stretches. “I installed wifi. The connection was so shitty, how do you even live here?”

“Oh,” Derek blinks. “Thanks.”                               

“You’re welcome.”

Another silence. “I’m going for a shower,” Derek announces and continues his way upstairs.

“Can I watch,” comes a cheerful holler from behind, and it surprises Derek so much he stumbles with a step and almost falls. He finds his feet quickly enough and decides not to pay the comment any attention, all the whilst his ears are burning hot.

Stiles’ laughter accompanies him all the way the bathroom, and Derek cries while he masturbates in the shower; fucking _sue him_.

 

He doesn’t feel nearly sane enough to dare risk going downstairs for dinner so he just stays upstairs and reads a book. His eyes keep skipping over the words. He’s wearing very little, feeling sad without the nest he had to hide before Stiles’ arrival. He thinks about just manning up and going downstairs, but Stiles beats him to it when he shows up to the room without even knocking, wearing a pair of pajamas Derek has never seen.

They never needed any pajamas, Derek’s natural body temperature way too hot for layers of clothing, but apparently new habits are quick to make.

“Can I come in?” Stiles asks politely enough, looking way too calm for Derek’s tastes.

Derek snaps the book shut. “You’re not sleeping with me,” he states right away. He, very intently, keeps staring at the cover of his book.

“Uh, I kinda have to.”

“No.”

“Look, I know we’re not friends or anything, but could you even look at me?” Stiles worries his lower lip, sounding so upset that Derek does. “We should talk about rules. And what we’re gonna have to do.”

“You’re already here. What else is needed?”

“Well I had a conversation with Scotty boy, and we’re going to have to smell like we’re in a relationship. Which means sleeping in same bed and, y’know. Body fluid exchanges,” he says and has the nerve to sound _excited_ about it.

“There’s no bed,” is what Derek dumbly chooses to say.

“What the hell, you actually sleep on the _floor_? What sort of an animal are you? Tomorrow, Ikea and a _bed_ ,” Stiles looks scandalized. “Seriously, man. Your life control is so poor.”

“Stiles,” Derek says uncomfortably. It’s all rushing to him this very moment, this – it’s all wrong, he sounds and smells like Stiles, but it’s not _his_ Stiles anymore. Or is it? Couldn’t it be? “What are we doing?” Derek asks, shaking his head. His voice is cracking. “I can’t do this.”

“You promised,” Stiles looks angry. “Trust me, I don’t want to impose myself on you either, but you’re the only Alpha around and besides, it’s just for a week if even that. Nobody’s actually forcing you to fall in love with me or anything.”

Derek laughs hysterically. It’s so funny and Stiles doesn’t understand why. “You don’t have any idea, do you,” he says. “Stiles. Come here.”

He feels crazy, but he has to try, he _must_.

Stiles looks most wary. “Why?”

Derek stares him down. That, at least, works just like it used to. Stiles has never been able to resist an open challenge from him.

Stiles sits very slowly down next to Derek, and they keep looking at each other, and Derek thinks to himself: _I’ll never know if I never try_. “Who do you think I am?” he asks. He sounds like a stranger to his own ears.

“Is this some sort of an ego thing?” Stiles goes for bravado, rolling his eyes. “Alpha o’mine.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, growing _desperate_ with the need to make him remember. “Look at me.”

Stiles does. He doesn’t try to touch him or anything though, he just looks at Derek, and wherein he’s always been an open book, Derek can’t get anything out of him anymore. Like there’s a wall between them, one that’s never been there before. But Derek wants so much, he does, and when they’re this close, Stiles is just the same he’s always been. It’s so easy to get lost in the illusion, and Derek raises his hand to Stiles’ face.

It makes Stiles shiver, makes his mouth fall open, and Derek thinks: _yes, yes, he’ll let me in again, I knew he wouldn’t forget me_ , and he’s leaning forward – they’re so close, and – Stiles reels back, eyes wide with shock. “What is this?” he asks, voice no louder than a whisper. “What are you – _Derek_.”

It’s so unsure, so _scared_ , like it hasn’t been for years. “You really don’t know me,” Derek wonders, the truth of the words sounding a lot like defeat. "Once upon a time you couldn't keep your hands off me."

“I know you just fine,” Stiles says, anger and confusion coloring his voice. “Why the hell are you being so weird? It's not funny, quit fucking with my head. I don't know what you want from me but it's not - just, just  _stop_ it, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Derek says quietly. He digs his fingers deep into his skin. He can see Stiles is shaking. “The couch is yours. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He wishes so much Stiles would refuse, but he only nods and slips away from the room as hastily as possible.

His Stiles would never have done that. They had a rule about never going to bed angry with each other, and his Stiles would have stayed back and demanded the truth out of Derek. But this Stiles doesn’t want him anymore, and for both their sake Derek would be best to learn to live with that, or the Texas pack would rip them all to pieces. This time not even a true love’s spell would be able to save them, because Derek couldn’t give up any more love than he already had, and Stiles had none left.


	4. touch your defenses

“It’s not happening, Stiles. Just drop it,” Derek commands, fully aware he’s posturing as if preparing for battle.

“Poor choice of words,” Stiles smiles sweetly. He lays down the werewolf-shaped atrociousness of a nightlight in their shopping cart.

“It’s for _children_ ,” Derek hisses. “It has a _fluffy tail_.”

“And in ten years your kids will thank Uncle Stiles for buying their dad a sense of humor,” Stiles counters whilst looking at his shopping list. “Next up: a bed."

Derek, however, is frozen in place. _Uncle Stiles_ , he thinks, determined on not letting any of the inner turmoil show on his face. The whole Ikea trip has been fifty part torture, fifty part wish fulfillment so far, and Derek’s not quite sure what way is up or down anymore.

A fitting picture; Stiles has never been able to concentrate on one thing at a time, so when they were building the Hale House, he was already thinking about furnishings. One day he dragged Derek here and teased him about his open mistrust towards the huge shopping center. “You’re Alice and I’m your rabbit, and this is the Wonderland we must conquer,” he said solemnly.

They spent the whole day checking things out, bickering and kissing. When they tried out the beds Stiles sneaked his hand down to Derek’s crotch. They got caught and reprimanded by a saleswoman, except of course Stiles worked his charms and soon enough she was cooing at them being so cute together.

The scariest thing? The rabbit still wears the same skin, and this trip has been very much the same - except for the kisses. And that is admittedly Derek’s fault.

Stiles had grabbed his hand when they were leaving the car. “For practice,” he said briskly. “This is okay, right?”

“No,” Derek answered, hating the strange, yet so familiar touch. Stiles snatched his hand quickly away and Derek missed it immediately, but the harm was already done. Stiles hasn’t tried to touch him ever since, but, although unknowingly, he sure does everything else in his might to throw Derek off his sanity.

The hardest part is that Derek knows _so much_ of Stiles, but they are things Stiles thinks he hasn’t ever told him, and covering the blunders takes so much effort Derek feels completely drained. Everybody has thought about how their loved ones would cope if they died, right? Well, Derek gets to observe Stiles 2.0: Life Without Derek Edition, and it's both fascinating and a little devastating.

Stiles carries himself differently. He stands a little taller, but more withdrawn. He’s still expressive with his mouth and hands, but his laughter doesn't ring quite as often as it used to. Stiles' way of speech has taken a crude tone, and he makes these quick little barbs at everybody's expense, himself included. Like he's bitter or something. Like he isn't... well. He does smell content enough, but it's like a certain sort of happiness has left him.

Derek is so lost in his own thoughts it takes him a minute or two to realize Stiles has disappeared from sight. He listens in for a second and locates Stiles’ excited blabbering. Derek sighs and steers the cart towards the bed section.

“Yeah, the bigger the better,” Stiles agrees. “I’m a spazzy sleeper.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” answers a flirtatious voice.

Derek shows up next to Stiles and the salesman he’s talking to. Stiles looks at the cart. “So you didn’t get rid of the lamp,” he says happily. “Stiles the Conqueror, that’s what they will call me in history books. Derek, this is Adam, he’s helping me pick out a bed.”

“Hi, man,” Adam says. He wears a stupid costume and smells like desire.  

Derek crosses his arms to show off his biceps and turns his gaze to Stiles. “Really?”

“What?” Stiles blinks. The little vixen rises up a bit on the bed he’s lying on. He looks like a wanton whore.

“We’ll manage on our own, thanks,” Derek says to Adam, who swallows nervously.

“Oh, sure. If you need help just ask,” he says. Derek cocks his head. “From me or anyone else. Uh, happy bed hunting.” He leaves quickly enough without looking back.

“Well, that was weird. Come on, try this. I came here with my dad a couple of months ago, we both really liked this one,” Stiles says.

Derek settles down and just sits there staring at the tips of his own shoes. _His dad_ , for fucking sure.

“You have to bounce,” Stiles says slowly as if talking to a child. He grabs Derek by the shoulder and pulls him down so they’re lying on the bed side by side. “What do you think?”

“It’s too big."

“But it’s just the perfect size for us.”

“You won’t be staying in my bed forever,” Derek reminds him. “It’ll be just me when the Texas pack is gone.”

“Oh, right. I hadn’t thought about that,” Stiles bites his lip. “But, I mean. Are you really planning on spending the rest of your life alone in that big house?”

_I was planning on spending it with you_ , Derek thinks. “I don’t think there’s any other options for me.”

“Oh, come on,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

Stiles groans. “Dude, you’re pretty much a dream catch for just about anybody. You shouldn’t be short of company, that’s the stuff of spastic, weird-looking people like me.”

“You’re don’t look weird,” Derek says. His heart feels hot.

“Well I sure as hell don’t look like you.”

“What do I look like?”

“ _Ugh_. The body, the face. You’re so fucking good-looking, it’s not fair to anybody else within a 400-mile radius. Or however far Chris Evans happens to live.”

Derek’s mind is racing with the compliment, but that’s not – he knows what he looks like. Stiles always said it was a plus but not the reason they got together, though. Sometimes Derek believed him, sometimes not. “And that’s all people ever see in me,” Derek says, surprising even himself with the words. “A pretty face and muscles. That’s not love, that’s lust.”

"Maybe you just need to give people a chance to get close to you. Sure there’s someone out there who’s willing to look past your beautiful exterior.”

_There was you, once, but I don’t think you loved me enough to keep me_ _._ “I’m not so sure about that,” Derek whispers out loud. When did it come to this, spilling his heart out in the middle of Ikea?

Stiles’ fingers twitch in the space between them, like he’d like to touch him. He doesn’t. “Well, you could start with a smile,” Stiles says shyly. “That always helps.”

Derek smiles, the best he can.

“That’s better.” Stiles answers with a smile of his own. “Y’know, we should do this more often.”

“Cry in the middle of Ikea?” Derek asks dryly.

“Hang out, I mean,” Stiles says. “I feel like for some reason I haven't had the time to get to know you better."  

“I’d like that,” Derek says, speaking from the heart. Stiles licks his lips wet, and his eyes drop down to Derek’s mouth for just a second, but it’s fleeting. He sighs and gets lazily up.

“Let’s go test a few others,” Stiles says, and Derek follows him hesitantly.

“Oh my God, it _is_ you!” a woman shrieks then. Derek recognizes her immediately. It’s the same woman Stiles bonded with from when they last were here. _Rita_ , her nameplate says.

“Oh, hi!” Stiles’ face lights up. “Great to see you. Derek, this is Rita.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to come, you know,” Rita says. “How’s it going? You ready with the house already?” she looks excitedly between the two of them.

“You two know each other?” Stiles looks surprised and swats at Derek. “What the hell, you told me you hated Ikea.”

Rita cocks her head. “Weren’t you looking for a bed last time too?”

“Oh, no,” Stiles denies. “That was my dad.”

“Your… dad?” Rita blinks.

“Yeah.”

Derek doesn’t have time to come up with an excuse to leave before Rita leans forward, voice dropping an octave. “Like… _Daddy_?” she asks, growing a little red in the face.

“… Excuse me?”

“Oh, it’s cool. I'm not judging. Who could blame you after all?” Rita giggles, taking a sneaky side glance at Derek.

“ _He's not_ \- I mean -  _what_?” Stiles’ jaw hangs open. Derek couldn’t even begin guessing what’s going on in his mind.

“I’ll keep your secret, alright,” Rita promises. “So, the last time you were quite keen on the Malm line, right? We still have a couple left. Lucky you!”

“Right, we’ll try it,” Stiles says, still stunned. He looks at Derek, forming with his mouth a silent: _what the hell_?

Derek shakes his head in answer. He’s starting to sweat. It’s like watching a car wreck happen, but Derek kinda wants the car to win this time.

Rita walks them to a bed Derek can remember they tried out and loved the last time. “It’s like fluffy heaven,” Stiles moans as he settles down on it. “Derek, please. This is the one. I can feel it in my butt.”

“Fine,” Derek says. “We’ll take it. Thanks for your service, Rita.”

“Come on, you can’t buy a bed without trying it!” Stiles complains.

“I trust your judgement." Derek flashes him a big fake smile.

“Aww, you two are so cute,” Rita coos. “The rabbit and his Alice, right?” she laughs.

Stiles laughs, too. “What now? We’re not together,” he says.

“Oh no,” Rita gasps. “Don’t tell me you broke up.”

“ _Broke up_? We were never together.”

“Did you lie to me?” Rita asks disappointed.

“Lie? What? When?”

“The last time you were here, all adorable and moving in together!”

“I was here,  _with my dad_ , looking for a bed for my own apartment,” Stiles says slowly. “This is Derek, a friend of mine. You must have gotten something confused.”

“Am I on hidden camera or something?” Rita laughs nervously.

“Am _I_?” Stiles asks. “What the hell, seriously. Like, have you even seen Derek before?”

“Oh, like I'd forget a face like that. I don’t know what's going on, anybody else would try to flaunt him."

“That’s enough,” Derek croaks, just wanting to get the hell away from Rita as soon as possible. “Stiles, we better go.”

He could as well be a bag of empty air. “You’re making stuff up,” Stiles accuses.

“But I’m _not_ ,” Rita insists. “Look, if this is some weird joke, I’m sorry. I just thought I’d come say hi. I meant no harm.”

“You’re the one making absurd fucking accusations,” Stiles says hotly. He stands up, sneering and angry, so unlike him. “I was – I _was_ here with my dad,” he turns to Derek. “Tell her. Now.”

“But I _saw_ you,” Rita says stubbornly. “You called yourself his rabbit, and you tried this very same bed, and you were moving in together – “

“That’s a _lie_ ,” Stiles says, eyes blazing with fury, shaking his head. “You’re a _liar,_ you’re lying to me, why would you do that? Fucking cunt.”

Derek smells it before he sees it. There’s red on Stiles’ skin – his ears are dropping blood.

“Stiles!” Derek gets alarmed. “Enough.”

Poor unknowing Rita is in tears. “I’m really sorry,” she says, lower lip wavering, scared of Stiles’ sudden outburst. “I’m just – I’ll go.”

She retreats, but Stiles isn’t nearly done.

“Why did she say all that?” he turns to Derek. “She was lying to my fucking face, I should have ripped her organs out for doing that, stupid little bitch.”

“Stiles,” Derek seizes him by the shoulders. “You need to calm down.”

“You don’t get to order me around! Shut the hell up yourself, you fucking – let go of me,” Stiles says, and then his nose starts bleeding too.

“Stiles,” Derek says helplessly, thanking all the gods it’s a slow day and there’s nobody around. “Come here. It's alright.” He wipes at the streams of blood and pulls Stiles into his arms, covering him completely. He used to love doing this, acting as a shield between Stiles and the rest of the world, and this is – it’s Stiles in his arms again, something he thought he’d never get to have.

It’s by no definition a sweet stroll down the memory lane though, because Stiles is shaking. He keeps repeating single words like “no” and “lies”. They stay like that for god knows how long; it could be anything from five minutes to two hours, until Stiles settles down.

He raises his head, eyes terrifyingly blank. “What happened?” Stiles asks, voice distant and dreamy.

Fuck if Derek wouldn’t love an answer as well. “You had a nosebleed,” he says. His voice is quivering. Derek wipes away the remains of blood from Stiles’ face with his sleeve. “We’d better go.”

 

He gets them out of Ikea as fast as he can, making sure Stiles doesn’t talk to anybody else but him for the rest of the trip. Stiles is, luckily and scarily, pliable enough; it’s as if he’s sleepwalking, and he does everything Derek tells him. Derek speeds back home and forces Stiles to take a nap on the couch.

He goes to the kitchen and chooses a name on his phone.

“Hello,” Lydia’s cool voice answers.

“What the fuck, Lydia,” Derek hisses. “Stiles’ ears just started – we were at Ikea, and there was a woman and she kept asking all these _questions_. His ears and nose started bleeding, and he’s being so weird, what the hell is happening to him?” he says all in rapid succession, his worry finding an outlet.

“His ears started _what_?”

Derek explains her everything. His chest is heaving at the end of the story. “What the fuck is going on, the Texas pack will know right away something’s wrong when they come, and Stiles – just, what _is_ this?”

“You need to come here,” Lydia says.

“Fine. Fine, we’ll come as soon as he wakes up.”

“No. I’m gonna call Scott, he’ll come to keep Stiles company. You need to come here, we need to talk this through, I’ll alert Deaton and everybody else.”

Derek takes a deep breath. “Fine then,” he says. The adrenaline running through his veins is finally starting to dissolve. He ends the call and his legs refuse to hold him up anymore. The only thing that’s keeping him connected to reality is the steady heartbeat in Stiles’ chest; not a sound to be taken for granted.

 

Stiles is hugging a steaming cup of tea, a rosy blush high on his cheeks. He and Scott are sitting on the sofa arguing about some stupid superhero movie.

“I’m leaving now,” Derek informs Scott.

“Where are you going?” Stiles asks immediately. His eyes are large and liquid.

“For a run.”

“Yeah? Taking your Transformers buddy with you?” Stiles asks, scanning down Derek’s form. Derek realizes he’s holding the car keys.

Derek absolutely refuses to blush. “Don’t wait up for me,” he snaps and gets out of the house.

 

It’s a proper chaos in Lydia and Jackson’s living room. The whole pack plus Deaton are all arguing loudly over each other, at least until Derek makes his presence known. Only then they fall silent enough and settle on glowering at each other and Derek respectively.

He walks over to the armchair – best seat in the room, an Alpha’s seat, his pack knows – and sits down. Erica and Boyd shuffle instinctively closer to him.

Derek’s had a lot of time to think about what to say. He keeps his voice very calm: “Deaton. Explain.”

The man in question clears his throat. He looks oddly casual, dressed in a simple white shirt and jeans. “Lydia told us what happened, but I’d like to hear your version first.”

“We were at Ikea," Derek starts. "A saleswoman recognized us; we’d been there before the spell, and back then Stiles told her we were about to move in together. But now Stiles kept insisting he'd been there with his dad. Well, the woman kept insisting right back that she’d seen us together. Stiles got so angry, calling her a cunt and something about ripping her guts out. His ears and nose started dripping blood." Derek makes his voice as icy as possible. "Any theories?”

“Well, you see.” The glance Deaton takes at Lydia doesn’t go amiss. “That’s a side effect of the spell. I had no idea it could get that bad, though.”

“Bad,” Derek repeats. “He had a panic attack afterwards. If this happens when the Texas pack is here, we’re all dead.”

“You’re right indeed,” Deaton sighs. “We’ll have a very similar situation in hands, just one in a bigger scale. We have to figure out how to prevent today's catastrophe from happening again.”

Derek can feel the shift in the room. Nobody will look him in the eye - there’s something they’re not telling him. “You’re evading,” he realizes. "You’re keeping something from me. Why did this happen to Stiles?”

Deaton looks at Lydia again.

That’s enough. “I’ll have the truth or I’ll have _your_ guts,” Derek snarls.

“Like I said, it’s a side effect,” Deaton repeats. “After the true love's spell we studied Stiles' brain, and found out it's extremely dangerous to push his limits when it comes to you."

“Why?”

“Because his brain could explode.”

“ _What_?”

Deaton takes a deep breath. “You have to understand there are two options for what the spell has done to Stiles’ mind, and no way to be sure which one is correct,” he explains. “Either he's being denied access from all memories of you, or then they’ve been destroyed altogether. However, the end result is the same. When somebody even mentions your name in his presence, his mind works furiously to fill in the gaps you’ve left in him. So if he’s being put into a situation where the other person keeps insisting, overheating ensues. And you saw what happens then – the bleeding, the aggression, the dream-like state afterwards. If Stiles’ mind is pushed enough with memories of you, it will rather break than bend.”

Derek listens in pure horror. He can’t think of but one thing: yesterday evening he had tried to make Stiles remember – he could have – it could have been so bad, and he _did not know_.

Deaton must be reading something on his face. “Derek, what have you done?”

“I didn’t know."

“What _happened_?”

“I didn’t, I wasn’t trying to… I only tried to kiss him, just a little, that’s all," Derek says, voice hoarse.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing. I swear.”

“How did he react?”

“I – I wasn’t pressuring him or anything, I just wanted to see if he could remember, but he didn’t. He was shaking, but it wasn’t an actual panic attack or anything." He dwells on it, and slashes out. Anger has always found him quickly. "Why the _hell_ didn’t anybody think of telling me this a lot earlier?” he nearly roars.

A silence. Then: “I thought it’d be best if you weren’t told.”

Ladies and gentlemen: Lydia Martin, ruining Derek’s life with her perfect fucking strawberry locks and cruel mind. “You utter fucking _bitch,"_ Derek breathes out, astonished.

“We only wanted to spare you," Lydia spits. "Everybody was telling me, oh, please, don’t go rubbing it into poor Derek’s face. He’s lost so much already; he doesn’t need to know that if you try to remind Stiles of his love, he will go literally  _insane_ ,” Lydia rants. “I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to try to kiss him. You’ve _lost_ him, Derek, and there’s nothing you can do to get him back. Not without breaking his mind.”

“You,” Derek croaks. “Shut the fuck up. This is a warning.”

“I think we really need to take the cat out of the bag,” Lydia continues. “I know you hate me now because Stiles acts like he wants me again, but do you think I _enjoy_ it? You’re not the only one who lost him, Derek! He was my best friend, and now he’s drooling after me because he thinks he’s in love with me! Like some fucking idiot from high school!”

“Oh, poor you, getting him all to yourself – “

“I don't want him, I'm  _pregnant to Jackson_.”

“Then why don’t you tell _him_ that?”

“Don’t you ever listen? His brain would _literally explode_!”

Lydia screams the last two words. It’s loud enough to make the windows break.

Everybody startles. Derek wasn’t even aware that at one point during the argument he had stood up, and so has the rest of his pack, all standing in between their Alpha and their pregnant female.

Jackson tries to pull Lydia behind him, but she pushes him away. “Just sit back and it’ll pass, everybody said. Like they know what it feels like. You never asked me what happened, but I was there with him and Ayana that night, you know. He was – I’ve never seen him like that, and it broke my heart. He – he loved you _so much_ , Derek. I haven’t – I don’t sleep, I’ve tried to find a way to reverse it, but Ayana’s not home, and I don’t – my _babies_. The stress is – I can’t do this anymore, I can’t fight you, Derek.”

Lydia sits back down and starts to cry.

“Well, she’s finally gone crazy,” Erica chirps. Nobody laughs.

Jackson curls protectively around Lydia, making soothing noises. Derek stands there dumbly until Deaton puts a hand on his shoulder, pushes him back down too. Lydia picks up her voice between sobs. “We - I should’ve told you. It was a mistake.”

“Your mistake could have gotten Stiles killed,” Derek says, but it’s without heat. He understands a little better now.

“I know,” Lydia says miserably. “What are we going to _do_. The Texas pack – Allison, tell him.”

“A colleague of mine called today,” Allison informs them all quietly. “If Lydia’s calculations stand correct, they’ll be here in three days.”

“Three days,” Derek repeats. “Fuck.” Erica puts a hand on his calf, but it’s cold comfort. Derek laughs hollowly. “Anybody have any bright ideas, now’s the time to voice them.”

“I have one.”

Every single head in the room turns to stare at Boyd.

“Let’s tell Stiles about the true love’s spell,” he says.

“Nice to know you’ve been paying attention, dear,” Erica smiles crookedly.

“No, not like it actually happened, but as a cover story.”

“Like what, a dream in a dream?” Erica chuckles without mirth. “Don't be silly.”

A chilly wind is breezing in from the open windows. Derek is ready to stab himself in heart, but Deaton starts muttering: “I hadn’t thought… well, why not? Unless his mind refuses any sort of positive feelings from Derek…”

“Deaton,” Lydia gasps loudly, startling them all. Her eyes are wide. “Yesterday Derek told Stiles he told the Alpha jury that he had a personal claim on him.”

“And he believed it? Without any complications?”

“There was a second of doubt, maybe, but he did accept it. It might – or is it stretching too much?”

“If we test it enough – “

“What are you – what is stretching too much?” Derek asks helplessly.

Lydia's smell radiates excitement. “We can't tell Stiles about the true love’s spell that actually took place, but we could make you a new cover story. You would pretend that the spell happened, and in reality it did, but it didn’t to Stiles! So it’s a lie that’s _not_ a lie.”

“I’m so glad Scott isn’t here,” Allison mutters.

“I wish I wasn’t here,” Isaac offers.

“Shut up, _shut up,_ let me think.” Lydia's wearing the look which says she's running calculations through her head. “It could – no, it _should_ work. Deaton?”

“I’m following,” Deaton nods, eyebrows furrowed. “We need to test it thoroughly. And figure out the timelines.”

“I’ll come up with it tonight,” Lydia says. “The whole timeline, all of it. Figure out the risks and the limits. At this point this just might be the only way to save us.”

“Hold up,” Derek snaps. “Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on.”

Lydia looks both thrilled and terrifying. “Okay, so,” she beams. “Stupid people terms. _Fine_. Yesterday Stiles questioned the need to go through with the love storyline. It was because his mind has convinced itself that the whole squabble in Orlando was because of his power as a spark, and his importance on our pack as an emissary. Right?”

“Yeah.” Derek feels uncomfortable. Lydia’s lecturing mode does that to people.

“But you told him that you’d told the jury it was also because you had a – what did you call it, a natural claim for your partner. And Stiles – he _believed_ _it_. Right?”

“Yeah...”

“So. Right now our problem is that when Stiles is being asked too much about your relationship, he goes insane. So far we’ve trusted that it won’t come to that, but today’s accident proves it does and will happen. The Texas pack will remember you were very much in love back then, and they _will_ pressure him about it.”

“So what exactly are you suggesting?”

“We simply tell the Texas pack about the Nemeton, about Ayana and the true love’s spell. It will explain why Stiles doesn't remember everything about your relationship, but that you’re both willing to work through it, and your claim still stands. Can’t you see, Derek? This means we’ll also be telling _Stiles_ the truth. Of course he will think it’s just a cover story, but it’s not, it’s the truth even if he doesn’t know it.”

“It’s madness,” Derek says.

“It’s _genius_ ,” Lydia assures. “Everybody wins.”

“How do we know his mind won’t blow up? _My_ brain is overheating just now,” Erica voices her doubt.

“We’ll put him under the same blank state spell than when we studied him after the original spell. No harm will be done. This is – oh, Boyd. _Thank you_.”

Boyd smiles modestly. “I’m kind of attached to my head in my body, you know.”

Lydia gets up on her feet. “Alright, enough of this chit-chattering,” she demands, looking feverish. “The meeting has ended, everybody out. I need to _work_. Except you, Derek. You stay. Deaton, I'll call you tomorrow.” They all know better than to deny Lydia when she’s like this. Shaking their heads and speculating, the pack leaves the house until there’s only Derek, Lydia, and a protective Jackson left.

“I’m not leaving you two alone,” he says.

“Fine,” Lydia answers. It does something to Derek’s insides she doesn’t say something like, _he wouldn’t hurt me_. “Derek. First of all we need to put all this bad blood behind us.”

“I agree,” Derek says stiffly.

“You might now, but there is a bigger picture here, though. Your control is slipping. Look, I don’t know if it’s a me thing or just a general Stiles thing, but you need to get it back. The Texas pack will not be merciful against a hot-headed Alpha.”

“I know,” Derek says, gritting his teeth. “I’ll work on it.”

“Just ask for help, okay?” Lydia asks, not unkindly. “You’re not alone, no matter what you tell yourself.”

“Yeah.” Derek feels like a chastised child. He can’t find any of his long-festered hatred for Lydia. “I shouldn’t have – I made you cry. I'll pay for the windows.”

“Hormones. Nothing that can’t be forgiven,” Lydia waves a hand. “I also wanted to talk to you about Stiles.”

Derek stiffens. “What about him?”

“He called me this morning,” Lydia says. “Said you refused to sleep with him yesterday. He didn’t tell me about you trying to kiss him, though. So I don’t know if he’s sad or mad or what, but he was - he said you won’t even touch him. Please, Derek. I know it’s a lot, but this needs to work out, for Stiles’ sake.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“You have to have sex with him,” Lydia states bluntly. “You know it. The Texas pack will know your claim’s inactive if you don’t smell enough of each other. But it’s not just that. Stiles said… well, you know he doesn’t always think too much of himself.” Lydia smiles sadly.

Derek breathes in deeply. “Fine. I, it's whatever. I best leave you to work.”

“I’ll come over with Deaton tomorrow,” Lydia says. “We’ll figure it all out, Derek, I know we will,” she says, sounding so sure Derek nearly believes her.

 

Scott meets Derek out in the yard and they exchange a couple of quick words. “Allison will tell you the rest,” Derek says, tired to the bones. He bids Scott farewell and heads straight upstairs just to Stiles on his – no, _their_ – bed.

He’s wearing the pajamas again, and also thick-rimmed glasses. His hair is adorably mussed, and he’s reading a book, buried under covers as deep a blue as midnight sky. They’re brand new from package, and he looks so damned homely Derek just might cry.

“Hi,” Stiles greets. Derek manages a mumbled _hi_ in return and goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and gather his courage.

He goes back, makes quick of his clothes, and turns to find Stiles staring at him.

“Where were you?” he asks.

“Nowhere important.” Derek looks around the room. The werewolf nightlight isn’t so bad after all. “Did you and Scott do all this?”

“We figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s nice,” Derek says, and it _is_. There’s all the essential furniture and even a nice painting put up. It looks like it could become a home. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Stiles says. He closes his book and puts it away. “Well, come on here then. We need to do the thing.”

“What?” Derek almost chokes on air.

“Don’t worry, I promise not to bad touch you or anything.”

“No,” Derek stammers. He’d thought they would have this talk maybe tomorrow. The ghost of his promise to Lydia hangs heavily upon his shoulders, and he should – he _should_ , what’s the big deal? But now that Stiles is actually _there,_ it’s so hard, he feels so unsure…

“What the _fuck_ , Derek! You won’t touch me even though I might _die_?!” Stiles explodes. “You don’t have to, like, look at my face or anything, just, I _need_ you,” he says. There’s shame and misery in his smell.

Derek’s fucked up. He finally gets it; he hasn’t for one single second stopped to think about how this might feel for anybody else but himself. _You’re not the only one who lost him,_ his mind repeats Lydia’s words. Derek’s been so involved in his own despair he hasn’t spared a thought for how Stiles must be feeling. He’s the one who has to pretend being in a relationship with somebody he thinks is practically a stranger, one who won’t touch him, barely even talks to him.

Well, no more. It’s time to grow up. “Stiles, I,” Derek starts. His throat is so fucking dry, though.

“What?” Stiles barks. He’s furious, that much is clear.

“Turn off the lights, please.”

Stiles’ face flickers with a fleeting something – _disappointment_? – but he complies all the same. They’re both holding their breaths when Derek stalks to the bed, crawls under the covers.

Stiles doesn’t talk. Neither does Derek. The sounds of his movements are enough to fill the silence; the covers rustle as Derek brings his hand down on his dick and he starts pleasuring himself.

It doesn’t take long for Stiles to catch up. And so they lie in the dark, jacking themselves off. Derek knows he can’t touch Stiles or he’ll go completely mad, won’t be able to hold back from fucking into him, getting back inside where he belongs.

There’s a wet sound when Stiles spits into his hand and palms himself again. This time he moans, and that makes Derek spurt. He comes like he hasn’t for ages, gathering all his come in his hand. He reaches over to rub it against Stiles’ stomach, accidentally grazing his dickhead. It makes Stiles shoot.

Derek scoops up Stiles’ come with his fingers and, veiled by darkness, brings it up to his mouth to have a taste.

“Did you just…“ Stiles is out of breath. He smells sated.

It must be weird as hell for him, he’s not used to this anymore – Derek shouldn’t have… “I’m sorry,” he whispers, embarrassed.

“No, no,” Stiles hurries to say. “It’s okay.” His heart doesn't miss a beat. “I – thank you.”

Derek doesn’t trust his voice enough to answer. Stiles takes his glasses off and squirms for a while before settling down. Derek makes sure he is sleeping and then, very carefully, reaches to hold his hand.


End file.
